The clouds hung low over London
by 221bLondon
Summary: When Scotland Yard needs the help of Sherlock Holmes to solve one of their cases, the detective meets Rachel, the victim's sister, who seems to be just as broken as Sherlock. [SherlockxOC] Set in a possible future after The Abominable Bride.
1. About a murder

**A/N: Hi! This is my first story on this website, I hope you enjoy it. Any reviews would be highly appreciated. :) I'm from Germany so English is not my native language - if you notice any grammatical errors, please let me know and I'll try to fix them as soon as possible.**

* * *

The clouds hung low over London, and the sun was not yet strong enough to heat up the air - exactly the weather he preferred. Or would have preferred, if it wasn't for the pouring rain, that is. With a sigh, Sherlock Holmes turned up his collar, got out of the cab and hurried towards the building. _Azure Jay Hospital_ , said a sign next to the door. It was one of those private mental health wards that had seemingly popped out of nowhere in the whole city recently. When he walked towards the counter, a man with grey-blond hair called for him out of the hallway to his left: "Sherlock, we're over here! He's with us," he added to the receptionist, who nodded and continued to type on his keyboard.

Sherlock Holmes walked towards the other man, saving himself the unnecessary greeting by directly asking: "Well, Lestrade, what have you got for me today?"

"A woman, she's dead," the DI answered.

"Oh really, I never would have guessed," said Sherlock while he followed Lestrade through the open door into one of the patients' rooms. The DI snorted, while Sherlock took a look around the room. Bed, armchair, small shelf and a telly, nothing too fancy. The dead woman was sitting in the armchair as if she was just taking a nap, still in her pyjamas. The whole room was filled with policemen.

Sherlock turned around to Lestrade. "I need everybody gone while I take a look at her."

"Alright," the DI muttered, then raising his voice continued: "Okay guys, everyone out for a minute."

When the idiots were finally gone, Sherlock rushed towards the woman to examine her. He didn't have long though before he heard loud voices in the corridor and the door was teared open. "Now le-let me through, I n-need to see her!," a woman exclaimed, while the DI tried to block her view on the dead body. "Miss, this is a murder scene, you can't just walk in here…"

"Just let her have a look at her sister, Graham," Sherlock interfered while he got up from the floor on which he had kneeled. "I have seen everything I need."

"Sister? And my name is Greg!," the DI said to Sherlock, but then he took a step back to let the woman through the door. When she saw her dead sister she froze and tears filled up her eyes immediately. "Oh Melody…"

Ignoring her, Sherlock started to explain his deductions to Lestrade: "She's been having an affair. Her lover came to see her this morning, he killed her. Some kind of poison, gave her an injection in her back. You can clearly-"

"An affair?," the woman asked, getting out of her trance. "She- she hasn't had a boy- a boyfriend in years."

"Yes, an affair, to a married man - that's while she kept it a secret, obviously."

"But there weren't any visitors allowed this early in the morning," Lestrade remarked.

"Even if there were, do you think the killer would be stupid enough to walk right past the front desk after murdering someone? Just do me a favour and _think_ before you speak. Look at her pyjama bottoms, all wet and dirty at the seam. It's not very hard to climb out of the window when you live at the first floor to meet a secret lover. He gave her the injection, then carried her back in, hoping no one would notice for a while that this woman in her armchair isn't just sleeping, but dead. Find out what the poison is, this will lead us straight to her murderer. He is a tall man, wealthy, and lives in London. You'll probably find shoe prints outside, if you just hurry up a little so the rain won't wash them away, and his DNA all over her body. He clearly didn't plan this murder very precisely, or else he is just stupid. You'll find the victim's phone on him."

After he finished, Sherlock walked out of the room, leaving the speechless DI, the woman, and her dead sister behind.

* * *

It was a relief to finally leave the building and step out into the cold morning air. Being there had brought back memories that he'd rather have forgotten all about. He could still see it as if it were only yesterday that Mycroft had found him after another overdose, and decided it was time to get some "proper help." Not that Sherlock would have cared, anyway. Nothing had really mattered at that time.

Sherlock was so lost in his thoughts that it took him a while to register someone behind him was calling his name. He turned around and saw the victim's sister coming up to him. "Mr Holmes," she said, "how did, um, I, I mean, could you explain to me wh-what happened to my sister, please? The p-police isn't very helpful."

"No, they hardly ever are…" Sherlock smiled. "Do you mind if we just pop into this kiosk over there? Not really a fan of standing around in the rain, and you should probably eat something."

"S-sure."

They crossed the street and took a seat in the small restaurant, where Sherlock ordered a cooked breakfast for the woman.

"W-why don't you eat something, t-too?," she asked

"Not now. But you look as if you haven't eaten anything in days."

"Well, s-so do you."

Sherlock saw that they weren't getting anywhere, so he decided to drop being nice now. He had better things to do than to _care_ about this woman, anyway. It hadn't really done him any good the last time he decided to go into that kind of thing, had it?

"You wanted to know how I knew about your sister's affair. There wasn't any boyfriend in the pictures on her wall, only you and her mother, but then she had a box of chocolates in one of her drawers - not the kind a family member would give you. Also, there was her jewelry, obviously. In her room there wasn't much else of any value, and since she is in a hospital, where would she get the money from to buy herself brand new earrings and a necklace? So a lover it is. Since the security at that place is basically a joke, it couldn't have been very hard to sneak out every now and again to meet someone. Now on to the slightly more interesting part: Why did she have to die? To answer this, one should first wonder why they would have kept their relationship a secret in the first place. Because she knew her family wouldn't approve of it? Not very likely, considering that she already was in a mental health clinic and most people probably thought the worst of her already. So _he_ wanted to keep it a secret then, maybe because he didn't want to be seen spending time with someone who could damage his reputation, maybe because he is married man. And what started out as a thrilling affair that would save him from his normal boring life, now suddenly began to threaten his very identity. They had an argument yesterday night. Maybe she said she'd tell his wife about the affair, but we can't know that for sure. Afterwards, she removed the jewelry because she was angry at him. She cried all night, which was clear from her red eyes. He came back this morning to finish the matter once and for all. Any questions?"

She just stared at him for a couple of seconds. "Well, t-t-that w-was…"

"Brilliant?," he suggested. "Well, it has been a great pleasure to meet you and enlighten you on such obvious events, but I'm afraid I have to go now, as there are far more important things to do."

And for the second time that morning, Sherlock Holmes just walked out of the room, telling himself that _he didn't care about any of it._


	2. About two cups of tea

**A/N: Thanks for following this story, Olympichopefull98 :) Here comes chapter two: About two cups of tea**

* * *

"You did what?" John screamed at him, pacing through the living room of 221B Baker Street, while Sherlock lay on the couch, annoyed by John's outburst. "Sherlock Holmes, you really are an utterly…" Mary had John made stop swearing for the sake of the baby, which now saved Sherlock from John's wide range of offending vocabulary - git, piss bottle, asshole, to name but a few.

With a sigh, Sherlock got up and walked towards the kitchen. Not that he had wanted anything there, but the lying-on-the-sofa-while-John-yelled-at-you kind of got on his nerves after a while. After having not seen his friend for almost a month, when John had come around to visit this afternoon _this_ wasn't exactly what Sherlock had imagined.

"Jesus, Sherlock, that woman had just lost her sister. Imagine I would treat you this way if Mycroft were found dead."

"That is probably going to happen pretty soon if he keeps eating all of those plum puddings."

John chuckled and leaned into the door frame. "Yeah, true. But you see my point, though. Maybe you could just try to be a bit nicer in the future."

"How's Mary? And Hannah?" Sherlock asked in an attempt to change the subject while he took two mugs out of a cupboard and started making tea.

"Still not sleeping at night, constantly crying. That bloody colics simply won't stop. Listen, I can't stay long, I should probably get back to Mary. I just wanted to check whether you've gotten any news on the Moriarty front."

"Nope. Still nothing," Sherlock answered, crunching his teeth. Since Moriarty's _Did you miss me?_ message took over every screen in the whole of Britain two months ago, there hadn't been any sign of Moriarty whatsoever. Even though Sherlock could have sworn…

John's buzzing phone distracted Sherlock from his thoughts. John took his mobile out of his pocket and read the text he'd gotten, then took his jacket from the armrest of his chair where he had placed it. "Alright Sherlock, I better go now. See you around?" And gone he was, leaving Sherlock alone with two steaming cups of black tea.

* * *

It was only two days later that Sherlock ran into her again. He was on his way to Mycroft when the two of them literally bumped into each other on Canterbury Terrace.

"Sorry," he said, and was about to walk past her, when he realized that she was the sister of the affair-victim. She had recognized him, too.

"Mi-Mister Holmes," she said, a slight smile appearing on her face. " 'Never ignore a coincidence. Unless you're busy, in which case, always ignore a coincidence.' Care for t-tea?" she asked and crossed the street to get to a little cafe, not checking whether he followed her or not.

Sherlock stood still for a moment, indecisive, but then curiosity got the better of him and he hurried after the woman. She seemed interesting enough, and, after all, he really didn't have much else to do. True, Mycroft expected him in the Diogenes Club, but Sherlock liked to keep his brother waiting. Ever since his overdose the day Moriarty seemingly came back, Mycroft had made a point in checking in with Sherlock at least once a week to give him yet another lecture about his drug habit. Sherlock really wasn't in the mood right now to be threatened by Mycroft with a drug rehab program yet again.

He stepped after her into the little cafe. The woman must come here regularly, for while she walked through the room she moved as if she knew the disposal of all the tables in her way by heart. Purposefully she made her way to a table in the back of the cafe, in front of a huge window. While Sherlock took place in the seat opposite to her, he noticed the three other people that were in the cafe with them: a business woman working on her laptop and a young couple sharing a piece of cake. Then his eyes focused on the woman in front of him, taking in all the details that he had already briefly noticed out on the street. The chapped lips, the blue shades under the reddened eyes. She looked as if she was about to say something, but at this moment the waiter arrived at their table and asked them for their orders.

After he had left, the woman made an effort to tuck two flicks of hair, which had fallen out of her messy bun, behind her ears. "I- I'm Rachel, by th-the way," she said.  
"Sherlock."  
"I know. I f-f-found your website. I would have thought you were a bri-brilliant man if I hadn't met you the other day."

Remembering John's words, Sherlock answered: "Yes. I'm afraid that wasn't my best behaviour." After inhaling sharply, he added: "Sorry about that."

"Um, it's okay, I g-guess." She looked at him with interest, but then seemed to remember why she had happened to meet him in the first place. "I wanted to ask whether there were - whether you've heard anything new about the mu-murderer of Melody."

To be honest, Sherlock hadn't really thought about the matter (which was rather boring, actually) at all during the last two days. He had spent most of his waking hours in his mind palace, looking for any details that he might have possibly missed in the Moriarty case. But he couldn't tell her that, of course, so instead he made up excuses: "Mhm, that one, yes. Well, the police are still investigating, and I don't think I should tell you anything until…"

"I- I am not stupid, Mr Holmes," she interrupted him.

"I never said you were."

"B-but you thought so. You think that ju-just because I am u-u-unable to- to … Oh, screw this."

They sat in silence for a couple of seconds.

"How many times?" Sherlock asked.  
"I'm sorry?"

"How many times did you try to kill yourself?"

"W-Why would you think that … how do- do you…" Her voice trailed off.

"The scars on your arms," Sherlock said in a low voice, pointing his head to her forearms which rested on the table. Hastily she tried to pull down her sleeves, but it was too late now anyway. He had already seen her scars.

"Some are rather new, while others must be at least five years old, suggesting you've been struggling with depression and self-harm for multiple years. Your mother has been constantly texting you since we've come here, which means she is worried if she doesn't know where you are and what you're up to. And lastly, you didn't seem too shocked by the sight of your sister's corpse. Death is nothing new to you."

Sherlock had expected Rachel to look away, maybe even cry, or become angry at him (the reaction he usually provoked in other people). Instead, she kept looking him straight in the eyes. After he finished his observations, a slight, sad little smile appeared on her face.

"What about you then?" she asked. "How ... how m-m-many drugs did you take today just for the sake of being able to _bear_ all this? T-to bear _life_?"

Sherlock said nothing for a little while, too surprised for one of his usual sharp comments with which he kept anyone at a distance who had taken a personal interest in him. This was new to him. He wasn't used to being read by other people the way _he_ usually read _them_ , especially not by this woman, who wasn't even a medical doctor. And still, she managed to see what John (or Lestrade, or anyone else but Mycroft really) failed to notice.

"I have a list, if you are that keen to know," he said, rising from the table, just as the waiter approached with the tea that they had ordered.

"May-maybe you'll tell me all about it another time," Rachel said. "Maybe then I'll tell you m-m-my story, too."

Sherlock put his coat on and gave her a blank look, but then nodded before he turned around and left the cafe.


	3. About a new case

**A/N: Thank you Thetroublewithexes and xxDignity for following this story/ adding it to your favourites! I'm glad you guys enjoy this little story. :)**

* * *

Sherlock was precisely 17 minutes late when he finally walked into the Diogenes Club. Of course his elder brother couldn't resist making an unapproving comment about that fact while Sherlock took a seat opposite his desk. "Just shut up, Mycroft," he said, rolling his eyes. Mycroft merely grinned.

"How are you, brother dear? I see you've made some new acquaintances…"

" _Please_ tell me you don't spy on my every move with your bloody CCTV cameras."  
"Only because I was concerned about you being late. Who is she?"

"Didn't you look her up already?" Sherlock asked, clearly annoyed.

"Of course I did. I was just trying to have a little _chat_ with my brother."

Sherlock snorted and made an unapproving gesture with his hand. "Let's not get into this kind of thing. Are there any interesting cases?"

Mycroft thoughtfully looked at his brother for a brief moment, then took a folder off his desk and gave it to Sherlock. While Sherlock opened it and began to browse through the pages, Mycroft explained, "There's still nothing noteworthy going on in London. Nothing that would interest you, anyway. But only just this morning an old friend of mine contacted me to ask for your help in a most urgent matter."  
"An old _friend_?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Well, when I say friend… He lives out in Cardiff. I want you to take that case," Mycroft replied.

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked, about to get up and leave the room.

"Yes - Sherlock, why don't you ask Rachel to go out with you again?"

"We're not _going out_ with each other. I only just met her by chance."  
"Yes, and I think it would be good for you to spend more time with her, especially now that -"

"Now that what?" Sherlock demanded to know, but Mycroft wouldn't continue his sentence.

"Nothing, Sherlock. I am worried about you. And I don't think being alone suits you."

"Hmpf," was all Sherlock said before turning his back on Mycroft and leaving the room. Although he didn't want Mycroft to be right, upon leaving the Diogenes Club Sherlock found himself thinking about Rachel. He decided it wouldn't hurt to go to the Yard to check whether Lestrade and his team had made any progress in the case of her sister.

* * *

About two hours later, Sherlock stepped out of a cab and onto Privet Road, a quiet little street in the north of London. Almost identically looking single-family homes lined the street, and two little kids perched on the sidewalk, painting with chalk. Sherlock walked past them towards the house with the number four on it, and rang the bell.

An elderly woman opened the door.

"Mrs Adams? I'm Sherlock Holmes. I have been-"

"Oh, yes, Mr Holmes," the woman interrupted. "Rachel told me all about you." She opened the door and made an inviting gesture with her hand. "Please do come in. I'm Saoirse, by the way, Rachel's mum," she continued while she led Sherlock towards the living room. "I'm afraid it's a bit untidy, the children left their toys all over the place. But please take a seat," she pointed towards the sofa, "and make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you."

At this moment Rachel came into the room, a pair of gardening gloves in her hand and dirt on her trousers. "Mom, I- I th-th-thought I heard the doorbell rin-ringing," she said when Sherlock caught her eye. She immediately straightened her back and folded her arms. "Oh. It's y-y-you again."

"Yes," Sherlock said, still standing in front of the sofa. "Actually, I just wanted to let you know about some new information in your sister's case, but if you'd rather not have me here I won't bother you any longer…"

Rachel's face suddenly became much friendlier as she tried to stop him from leaving. "No, no of c-course not. S-s-sorry for being so rude. What - what is it?"

Rachel's mother, who had been standing in the doorframe, indecisive about whether to go and make some tea or stay and listen to her daughter's conversation with that detective man, now took a seat on the sofa. "Did you find out who did this to my daughter?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered. "The police hasn't confirmed it yet, but I thought you ought to know."

"Well, who w-was i-i-it - who was it then?" Rachel asked, while she sat down on the armrest of the sofa next to her mother, putting one arm around her shoulders.

"Tom Baker."

" _The_ Tom Baker? The mayor of London?" Saoirse asked disbelievingly.

"Yes."

"Ho-how di-did you work that out?" Rachel wanted to know, but her mother's crying stopped Sherlock from answering.

"I better go now."

"Oh no, no…" Saoirse said, fetching a handkerchief out of her pocket. "I'll calm down in a minute. I'm just going to make some tea." And she hurried out of the room towards the kitchen.

"She ha-hates to cry in front of o-other people, even me," Rachel explained, kicking her boots of her feet and pulling her knees up towards her chest. "Thank- thank you for coming here to tell us."

Sherlock just stood there, in the middle of the living room, not really sure about what to do now - a feeling he rarely ever got, but with Rachel, this seemed to become a more common situation.

"I didn't know you were Irish," he said at last, for the lack of knowing how to provide her comfort.

"Well I'm not, I w-was born in London. My mom mo-moved h-here when she was pr-pregn-pregnant with Melody and me to be - to be with our dad."

"And when did he leave your mother?"

Rachel gave him a questioning look, but then decided to just go along with him seeming to know everything about her life. "A-about one year after we were born. Never heard of him since. But - but let's not get into that story."

They sat in silence for a few moments until Rachel's mother came back in to bring them their tea. "I'll just see how Anna and Benjamin are doing," she said, already on her way back out of the room.

"The neighbour's kids," Rachel explained. "She likes to take care of other people, t-to stay busy. Es-especially now that…" Her voice trailed off.  
"By the way, I don't take drugs _to bear life_ , as you put it," Sherlock said after another moment of silence. "I just take them to avoid being bored when there aren't any interesting cases."

Rachel shook her head. "I-Isn't that just the s-same thing?" she asked and took a sip of her tea.

Sherlock kept quiet for a moment, thoughts running through his head, but then he decided to take the risk and asked, "Would you like to go on a case with me?

"Are you - are you actually a-asking me to go investigate a _mu-murder_ with you?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered, realising how stupid of an idea this was. _Of course_ she wouldn't come with him. Her sister had just gotten murdered, why would she want to go to yet another crime scene?

"Y-you know what? Yes, I'll come," Rachel then said, much to Sherlock's (and seemingly also to her own) surprise.

"You do?"

"Yes. Wh-where is it?"

"Cardiff."

"When are you planning on going?"

"Tomorrow morning. Only if that suits you, of course," he added, remembering how John had always hated to be ordered about by Sherlock. "I will text you the details later."

"Where - where did you get my num- oh, forget it."

Sherlock got up. "I will see you tomorrow then."

"Yes," Rachel smiled. "S-see you tomorrow."


	4. About a missing person

**A/N: As requested by sherlockedaf, here's chapter four: About a missing person.**

 **As always, thanks for reading and please review, I would love to here your thoughts!**

* * *

Sherlock already spotted Rachel from the distance while he made his way through Victoria Station, where they had arranged to meet at one of the platforms.

"Morning," he said. "Good to go?"

She smiled when she saw him, nodded, and together they boarded the train to Cardiff.

The train was mostly empty - usually people only wanted to get to London this early in the morning, not leave the city - so they took place opposite each other and put their bags on the empty seats next to them.

"S-so wh-what exactly happened?" Rachel asked.

"Douglas Crieff, the former British ambassador to Somalia, thinks that somebody kidnapped his girlfriend. According to him, she completely vanished two days ago, and took all her belongings with her."

"What i-if she just l-le-left him, moved out? Wh-what makes him think that so-some-something ha-happened to her?"

"I don't know," Sherlock answered. "That's what we're about to find out."

* * *

"My brother has booked us two rooms in the Taff Hotel," Sherlock explained while the two of them walked towards one of the cabs waiting in front of the train station.

"S-so we'll go there first?" Rachel asked.

"I thought so, yes."

"And th-then on to the ambassador. I- I must say, I'm rather c-c-curious indeed to find out what happened," Rachel said, sounding a little bit surprised about herself. Sherlock smiled.

Once they had checked into their rooms at the hotel, they decided to walk to Mr Crieff's house which was only ten minutes away by foot. He was living in a white mansion in one of the richest parts of the city. When Sherlock ran the bell at the gate, a maid introduced herself as Hennessey and welcomed them into the entrance hall.

"Mr Crieff will be here for you in a second," she said before she hurried off to continue her work. Sherlock looked over to Rachel who took in the atmosphere of the room, seeming rather impressed. At this moment, a door behind them opened and in came a man in his mid-sixties, with short blonde hair and round glasses on his nose.

"Ah, you must be Mr Holmes, good morning." He walked towards Sherlock and shook his hand. "And who's this?" He turned to Rachel.

"My colleague," Sherlock said.

"Colleague?" Rachel gave him a questioning but amused look, which Sherlock chose to ignore. "Now, Mr Crieff, please tell me exactly what happened on the 25th."

The man sat down on one of the large white sofas before he began to tell his story: "When I woke up that morning, Clara was still asleep. I had an appointment with my doctor at 8 - my knee, you must know, it's getting worse and worse every day. I left the house at 7.35 am precisely, and my chauffeur then drove me to Dr Iokova's surgery. He picked me back up there at half past nine to drive me back to my house, and when I came in here, Clara was nowhere to be found. Her suitcase is gone, all her clothes are gone, she -"

"I understand she wasn't permanently living here with you?" Sherlock interrupted.

"No, " Mr Crieff continued, "originally she is from Glasgow and still has her flat there. But I know that she didn't just leave me. She wouldn't do that. I tried calling her but she isn't picking up her phone. You must find her, Mr Holmes. Something has happened to her."

"What if she wanted to break up with you?"

"The day before she disappeared, I asked her to marry me. And she said yes. Why would she leave me without any notice the next day?"

"Did you call the police?"

"Of course I did! But they wouldn't listen to me. There are no signs of violence, no blood anywhere. They said she just ran off."

"Would you mind if we had a look around your house?"

"Go on, go on," Mr Crieff said, got up from the sofa and opened one of the many doors. "This is the kitchen, and through here you can get to the living room. I'll need to go to my office - urgent business - but if you have any questions, please ask either me or Hennessey."

"Very well, Mr Crieff. Only allow me one more question: Was there anybody else here that morning Clara disappeared?"

"No, no one. Wilfred, the gardener, only works in the afternoon and Hennessey had taken two days off to visit her parents."

"Thank you," Sherlock said, before he turned around to Rachel. "Shall we?" He asked her, and Rachel followed him into the kitchen.

"So w-what d-do you think?" Rachel asked him, but Sherlock only shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know yet. We'll see what information we can gather around the house."

"B-but he s-said the po-pol-police already came and had a look at e-everything."

"Yes, but the police always miss something." 'Just remember the case of your sister,' Sherlock wanted to add, but stopped himself from saying this aloud.

Once they had made their way into the living room, Rachel had gotten tired of looking around for clues, especially since there didn't seem to be any at all. She was therefore delighted to see a cat in the middle of the room, sleeping in the sunlight that shone through the window, and sat down next to it on the white, fluffy carpet. As she petted the cat, she noticed something blue lying underneath a cupboard. "Sh-Sherlock," she said, "what's this?"

Sherlock kneeled down next to the cupboard and fetched the blue thing from underneath it.

"It's a dental brace," he said, before he called out for the ambassador: "Mr Crieff, would you come here for a second?"

The man hurried into the room. "Yes, what is it? Have you found something?"

"Did this belong to Clara?" Sherlock showed him the brace.

"Yes, she always has to wear them at night. She was wearing them the morning I last saw her."

"C-couldn't they have just fallen off?" Clara asked, but Sherlock shook his head.

"Not very likely. Looks more like she was hit from the back, thereby losing her brace before she fell to the floor." He looked over to Rachel. "Good thing you found this. Right now this is the only thing we have to go on."

And even though Sherlock made a point of going through every other room of the house, the brace was the only clue they found in the case of Clara's disappearance. They also spoke to all of the neighbours, but none of them seemed to have noticed anything unusual. The longer they failed to find any new information that would lead them somewhere, the more frustrated Sherlock seemed to get.

"Sh-sh-should we j-just g-go back to the hotel, then?" Rachel asked, and the detective nodded once in agreement.

* * *

Later that night, Sherlock was sitting at the little table in his hotel room, trying to find useful information online that would help him solve the case, when he heard someone knocking his door. Reluctantly he got up to open it, and saw Rachel in her pyjamas standing in front of him.

"H-hi," she said, "do you mind if I come in?"

"Why are you still awake?" Sherlock asked, as he stepped aside and then closed the door behind her. They had had dinner at a little restaurant near the hotel, and afterwards each of them had gone into their own hotel room. Sherlock had assumed Rachel had gone straight to bed.

"Couldn't fall asleep," she said, while she sat down on Sherlock's bed. "D-did y-you find anything useful?"

"Not yet." Frustrated, Sherlock closed his laptop and walked up and down the small room. "She was hit on the back of her head, and then taken away - either still unconscious or dead. But why? I'm missing the obvious!"

"Sh-Sherlock? C-could I stay here tonight?" Sherlock turned around to Rachel and only then noticed that she was crying, noiselessly. He sat down on his bed next to Rachel who had curled into a ball.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said softly, "I shouldn't have asked you to work on this case with me. I should have known that…"

"No, Sh-Sherlock…," Rachel interrupted. "It's g-got n-nothing to do with you, or the c-case." She looked up to him, wiping her tears away with one hand. "Sherlock, you should know that I am a d-d-deep - a deeply unhappy person. Y-you pr-probably shouldn't spend t-ti-time w-with me."

After a moment of silence, Sherlock said, " And I'm a drug-addicted sociopath." He absent-mindedly started stroking her hair. "I guess we're quite the good match, then."

"I r-really don't th-thi-think you are."

"What, a drug addict?"

"No," Rachel said, her voice going quiet as she finally drifted off to sleep. "Y-you r-really aren't a sociopath. You care about people…"

Sherlock kept sitting next to Rachel, stroking her hair even long after she had fallen asleep.


	5. About Romeo and Juliet

**A/N: Here's the next chapter! I found it really difficult to finish writing on the case (so I probably shouldn't write Sherlock stories then ;), but I hope it all makes sense, somehow. Also, thanks to JediGemini for following and for your comment!**

* * *

Rachel was woken by an excited Sherlock only a few hours after she had fallen asleep.

"Look at this," he exclaimed, sitting at the edge of the bed next to Rachel. "Hennessey Smith, fortyfive years old, has been employed by Crieff for twelve years now. She seems to adore him, likes and shares everything he posts on social media." Sherlock was holding his laptop so Rachel could have a look at the screen. She sat up, trying to keep up with Sherlock.

"Wh-what, so - so do you think she was jealous and therefore did so-something t-to h-h-his girlfriend?"

"Precisely. I don't know why I didn't think of her in the first place. She has the keys to the house, and she knew her employer would be gone that morning, which gave her more than enough time to get rid of her unwanted rival without making it look like a crime. It's so obvious."

"B-but sh-she was with her parents that day, Crieff t-to-told us she had taken two days off."

"Of course, perfect alibi - whose parents wouldn't lie for their child?" Sherlock said, while he got up and fetched his scarf.

"Sherlock, wh-what are you d-doing?"

"Going back to Mr Crieff's house."

"B-but it's not even five o'clock yet!"

"Well we can't use any more time, can we?!" Sherlock screamed at her. They both looked at each other's faces for a moment, then Sherlock lowered his head.

After an uncomfortable silence during which neither of them moved, Rachel finally asked: "W-w-why to Mr Crieff's house?"

"I'll explain on the way. Are you coming with me or not?"

"A-al-alright. At least give me five m-minutes to p-p-put on some clothes."

Sherlock threw his coat towards her. "That'll have to do for now. We need to hurry up." He walked out of the room, followed by Rachel who put on Sherlock's coat as they hastened down the stairs and through the hotel lobby.

"So y-you th-think she's still alive, then, the w-woman, Clara," Rachel asked, half-running after Sherlock as she tried to keep up with him.

"I don't know. No."

"Sh-shouldn't we call the police?"

"We don't need the police, they only get in the way," Sherlock said, tightening his scarf. "Now listen: If you had murdered someone and a detective would investigate the case, and if you knew it would only be a matter of time until you got caught for what you did - what would you do?"

"I-I-I don't know, panic?!"

"Exactly. That's why we're going to Crieff's house."

"I-I still don't get it, Sherlock! W-why would Hennessey go there?"

"She's obsessed with him, and she also must know that there's only so much time left until she gets exposed as Clara's murderer. Crieff's house is probably the best chance we have at finding her."

* * *

Meanwhile, Hennessey Smith was standing in front of Douglas Crieff, staring at him with tears streaming down her face. "But … but I love you."

"Well what do you expect me to say? You come around in the middle of the night, acting all weird…" He froze as a new thought crossed his mind. "You don't have anything to do with Clara's disappearance, do you?" he asked, a slight note of panic in his voice. "What did you do to her?" He stared at her, bewildered.

"She wasn't good enough for you, this whore! But you and I, we deserve each other, don't you see?" She took his hand, but Mr Crieff pulled it away from her and stepped back.

"No, Hennessey, you're out of your mind. Let's calm down, I'm sure we can find a solution to all this."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll do," Hennessey answered, pulling out a gun. She smiled. "It's actually quite romantic, isn't it? Like Romeo and Juliet."

"Actually, it really isn't," a third voice added and grabbed her arm. Too late Hennessey realised that this detective bloke had been sneaking up behind her, taking her gun away and forcing her hands behind her back.

"Sh-Sherlock," the pale girl that had come with him asked, "sh-should I call the police now?"

* * *

A couple minutes later Rachel was sitting in the back of an ambulance, a blanket over her shoulders. The police had arrested Hennessey Smith and were still talking to Douglas Crieff and Sherlock. Once they were finished, Sherlock came over to Rachel, a big smile on his face.

"A-all h-ha-happy, are you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am."

"Y-you weren't actually enjoying this, were you? Sherlock, h-he could have gotten killed! _We_ could have gotten killed!"

"Well we didn't, no one did."

"W-what a-about Clara?"

Sherlock didn't say anything for a second. "Mhm, yes. Nothing we could do about that, I'm afraid." He looked over to the police officer who was still talking to Mr Crieff. "She told the police where they would find the body … Shall we go back to the hotel then? One of the policemen offered us a ride."

With another stare at Sherlock and a shrug, Rachel gave in. "Y-yeah, okay."

* * *

"What are you working on?"

They were in the train back to London, and Rachel had just taken a notebook out of her bag, flipping through the pages and adding notes to them.

"I-I'm a w-writer, you know…"

"Yes, I know."

Rachel only shook her head. "Y-yes, o-of c-course you do. - Anyway, I'm w-working on a b-biography right now and _theoretically_ I'm supposed to be almost finished with it, but, you know…"

"A biography about whom?" Sherlock asked her.

"A-Arthur Conan Doyle. He was a Scottish d-doctor and also an author, wrote _The Lost World_. Have you read it?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"A-any-w-way… if I don't get this done anytime s-soon I'll probably have to move back in with my mum. I'm a b-bit l-l-low on money right now."

After a moment of silence, in which Sherlock collected his thoughts, he said, "There's a spare bedroom at my flat. We could split the rent." He hold his breath while he waited for an answer to his offer.

"S-se-seriously?"

"Yes." He nodded once.

"W-well th-that would be…" Rachel thought about saying 'nice', but instead she settled for "interesting. - B-b-but are you s-sure?"

"Otherwise I wouldn't have asked. My old flatmate moved out a while ago, and maybe … I think maybe I would enjoy your company." Sherlock didn't have enough courage to look at her while he said the last bit, instead he looked down at his hands with which he was fumbling with the sleeve of his shirt.

Rachel smiled at him, even though he couldn't see it. "Y-yes, Sherlock, th-thank you. I would like to take the extra bedroom."


	6. About a (lovely) dinner

Living with Rachel was surprisingly easy. She spent most days working on that biography, and most nights writing on her novel (which she refused to show to Sherlock, resulting in him hacking her computer one day while she was taking a shower). When Sherlock started playing the violin at three in the morning, she came into the living room, thankful for the fact that she wasn't the only one still awake, and finally fell asleep on the couch, listening to him playing. And every now and again she came along on an interesting case with him.

The change she brought upon Sherlock didn't go unnoticed by John, who came around to visit one day while Rachel was out in Oxford at the Bodleian Library.

"So - are you two together, then?" John asked, the humming Hannah sitting in his lap.

"No, why would we be?"

John shrugged. "Don't know. I just thought that you - actually, forget about it. Maybe you two could come around for dinner sometime, I'm sure Mary would love to meet Rachel."

"Ah, yes, sounds lovely." In fact Sherlock couldn't imagine anything less lovely (unless Mycroft would be invited for dinner, too), but he knew that it would make John happy if he accepted his invitation.

"Great!" As Sherlock had predicted, John's face beamed. "I'll just have to settle on a date with Mary, and then I'll text you the details later?"

"Okay, fine," Sherlock said, who had walked back into the kitchen by now to continue his experiment on moles.

"I think Hannah is getting sleepy, so we should probably get back home. I'll see you later this week, then. Say goodbye to Sherlock, Hannah." The baby mumbled something unrecognisable, but Sherlock already was too focused on his microscope to respond.

* * *

"Ready to go?" Sherlock was walking up and down the living room, waiting for Rachel to come down.

"Y-yes," she said as she walked down the stairs from her room and looked at Sherlock. "Y-y-you s-seem a little bit nervous."

"No I'm not," he basically snapped at her and then looked away.

"I-I'm sure it w-wi-will be fine," said Rachel, and then added, "The famous former flatmate John Watson. I'm looking forward to meet him."

"Are you? You never asked me anything about John," stated Sherlock as they walked down the stairs.

"B-b-be-because you clearly didn't want to talk about him."

That was certainly true, so Sherlock decided not to go further into that topic. He stopped a taxi and the two of them were driven to the Watson's home.

The dinner went surprisingly well. Sherlock had feared that there would be even more intrusive questions as to his and Rachel's relationship status, but luckily both Mary and John seemed to have accepted them simply as flatmates.

After they had finished their dessert, they all moved into the living room and continued chatting on the couch. Sherlock looked to Rachel, who was sitting next to him. She was talking to Mary about a new restaurant which had just opened up in Covent Garden, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile at her seeming so happy and content with his two friends.

When Sherlock looked away again after a little while, he noticed that John had been watching him, a look on his face which Sherlock wasn't quite able to identify. Concern? Whatever it was, it was clear that John had something to say to Sherlock, and he got the chance to do so only two minutes later when they heard Hannah crying through the baby monitor.

"Oh dear," Mary said as she got up from the couch. "I better go check in on her."  
"C-ca-can I come?" Rachel asked, and both women walked out of the room, leaving John and Sherlock alone.

"So what do you think?" Sherlock asked before John got the chance to say anything.

He looked like a teenager who had just asked his parents whether they liked his first girlfriend, John thought.

"She's nice. Funny, and clever, but…" John looked at the door and then lowered his voice. "Listen, Sherlock, I … I don't think she's the sort of person you should spend time with."

Sherlock certainly hadn't seen that coming. "Why?" An astonished and hurt look appeared on his face, which made John twist uneasy.

"I just mean that… well, she obviously has some kind of mental illness - have you seen her scars?"

"Yes, so what?"

John could tell that Sherlock had gone into a defensive stance, so he tried to chose his following words wisely: "Sherlock, as a friend … I am concerned about you. I don't think someone as mentally unstable as Rachel has a good influence on you right now, with your recent drug abuse and everything…"

Sherlock stared at him blankly.

At this moment, Mary reentered the room: "Okay boys, who wants another glass of wine?"

Rachel stood behind Mary, her earlier happy face now completely unreadable.

Sherlock got up. "Thank you, Mary, but actually I was just telling John that I feel rather tired. Shall we go home, Rachel?"

She nodded her head slightly, before she forced herself to a smile and said goodbye to Mary and John. Upon leaving their flat, Sherlock wondered if she had overheard the conversation between him and John, but didn't dare to ask her.


	7. About an experiment

**A/N: Sorry about the late update, guys! I'm a bit busy with exams right now, but I promise the next chapter will be up here soon.**

* * *

It was the day the trial against Tom Baker started. Rachel had decided against going to the court with her mum because she didn't think she could stand being in the same room with the man who had murdered her sister. Still, she clung to her phone as she sat on the couch, hoping to hear some news from her mother. Her eyes could barely focus on the telly, where some American detective show had started a couple minutes ago.

Sherlock slumped onto the couch next to her. He had tried wrapping up his last case, but truth was he couldn't concentrate properly with Rachel being such a nervous wreck.

"Rachel, why on earth would you watch this CSI stuff? It's stupid," he said, because he knew this would get her to talk to him and forget about the trial for a moment.

"N-no it's not," came her promt answer. Sherlock smiled because - as usual - he had been right.

"It's actually v-very well written," Rachel continued. "The cases are really interesting, I never know who the murderer is."

"It's as plain as day, you must be an idiot if you can't see it!"

"W-well, at least I know that the earth goes around the sun," Rachel exclaimed, crossing her arms. Her words had caused Sherlock to frown and turn his head around to face her.

"Oh god, please tell me you haven't found John's blog," he said with such a dramatic sigh that it made Rachel laugh.

"S-so-sorry to disappoint you, but indeed I have. I might not be as clever as you are, but at least I know how to type my boyfriend's name into Google."

Only when she saw Sherlock's blank faze did Rachel realize the mistake she'd made.

"You think I'm your…"

"F-friend!" Rachel interrupted. "W-w-we're just friends, I know. I'm s-s-s-sorry. I - I don't know w-wh-why I said that."

She attempted to get up and leave the room, but Sherlock suddenly grabbed her hand. "No, don't go… I - I … gosh, I'm terribly at all this _feelings_. I'm the worst candidate for a boyfriend anyone could possibly ask for."

"N-no you're not," answered Rachel as she sat back down. She looked down at Sherlock's hand which she was still holding. "Sherlock, I r-r-really don't want to push you into anything you don't want. I like sharing this flat with you, I really do. N-nothing has to change. I know that you're not … that kind of man and that your work is more important to you than anything else and-"

Sherlock's hand under her chin made Rachel stop in the middle of the sentence.

"May I?" he asked before he lowered his head and gently kissed her.

As chance would have it, this was the exact moment Rachel's phone started ringing.

Rachel sprang to her feet and clatched the phone to her ear.

"H-hi mum," she said, and then listened to what her mother had to report from the trial.

Sherlock didn't even try to work out what she was saying - which would have been easy enough due to Rachel's regular comments and questions, but his mind was a mess right now.

"O-ok-okay then, s-see you tomorrow. Bye." Rachel hung up and turned back to Sherlock. "That was my mum," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Mhm, yes, I gathered."

"H-he's p-pl-pleading not guilty, but there's loads of evidence against him."

Sherlock still looked as if he was miles away.

"Sh-should - should we talk about this then?" To keep some distance between them, Rachel sat down in her armchair and watched her flatmate carefully.

"You are attracted to me," Sherlock said, slowly and in a neutral tone. "Or did I get the signs wrong?" He looked so seriously worried about the possibility of having made a mistake that Rachel had to bite her lip in order not to laugh.

"Y-you didn't get the signs wrong." Since Sherlock didn't say anything, Rachel continued, "And you kissed me."

"Yes." Rachel waited for him to continue. "Yes I did." He cleared his throat. "Did you mind?"

Rachel smiled. "N-no, of course I didn't mind. B-b-but where does this leave us? I mean, we're more than just flatmates now, a-a-aren't we?"

The detective thought about this for a moment, then he answered, "Rachel, I … I have never really been with anyone before - well I have, but only if it was necessary for a case. But never because I actually _liked_ someone." He paused. "But as weird as it seems, I've noticed signs of attraction to you whenever you are around - or not around, as a matter of fact."

"So…?" Rachel asked.

"One certain way to find out is of course to run an experiment. I think we were interrupted during the last one."

* * *

It should take more than four months til the end of the trial. Rachel held her phone in disbelief as she listened to her mother's voice.

"Not guilty? Wh-wha-what do you mean _not guilty_?" she asked again, but was only answered by silence.

Sherlock shot up from the couch on which he had been lying. "What?"

"The jury found him _not guilty_!" Rachel exclaimed.

Sherlock put his hands to the sides of his forehead while the images of Moriarty's trial appeared in front of his eyes. "This has happened before."

"S-sorry mum, talk to you soon?" Rachel hung up and gave Sherlock a concerned look. "What do you mean?"

"About four years ago, Moriarty arranged break-ins at the Bank of England, Pentonville Prison and the Tower of London, I'm sure you remember. His defence lawyer offered no evidence whatsoever against his charges, but at the end of the trial, the jury found him _not guilty_."

"Do you think that this has something to do with it? But Moriarty's dead, you _saw him_ shoot himself, so how could it?"

"I don't know. And I don't like not knowing."


	8. About an arrest

**A/N: Here's the next chapter, which I'm afraid ends on a bit of a cliffhanger... Also, if you happen to be a fan of Cabin Pressure, please check out my new story. And in case you don't know Cabin Pressure: it's a radio sitcom by John Finnemore, and it's brilliant, so you should definitely check it out. Okay, enough of that now, have fun reading :)**

* * *

Sherlock sat on his bed and opened the drawer of his bedside table. He took a small box out of it, opened it and stared at the ring it contained. He had bought it three weeks ago and still hadn't had the guts to ask her. But tonight was the night, so he put the box containing the engagement ring in the pocket of his suit and walked into the empty living room of 221B. Rachel had had a meeting with her editor, but Sherlock had hoped that she would be home by now to get ready for dinner.

They had planned on going out to a fancy restaurant; this of course hadn't been Sherlock's idea, but Molly's. About a week ago he had been foolish enough to carry the ring with him all day, took it out in the lab at St Barts and intensely stared at it. Of course, that was the exact moment Molly Hooper had walked into the room, so now she knew Sherlock wanted to propose to Rachel. He hadn't really figured out the where and when yet, and Molly insisted that they should go out for dinner at a nice restaurant (both fish and chips at his usual place as well as Angelo's were apparently out of the question). Molly actually called the restaurant herself and made a reservation for him and Rachel.

Because he was both bored and nervous, Sherlock had started playing his violin, but was soon interrupted by his ringing mobile phone. He spotted Rachel's name on the display and immediately picked up.

"Rachel?"

"Y-yes, Sh-Sherlock?" Her voice sounded shaky. "C-could you c-c-co-come here?"

* * *

Rachel impatiently waited for her editor to finish her seemingly never-ending monologue, which she had stopped paying attention to a while ago. Sherlock was probably already waiting for her back at the flat. He had been acting a bit weird lately - even by his own standards - and Rachel couldn't quite put her finger on the reason for his changed behaviour towards her. Whatever it was, from the forced casual way in which he had asked her out for dinner she guessed that he had something important to tell her tonight. She hated keeping him waiting, and was glad when she was finally free to go.

She catched a bus to Regent's Park and then stood at the bus stop waiting for the bus to Baker Street. It was getting darker now and the slight drizzle was slowly turning into a lashing rain. Rachel got her umbrella out and realized that the bus probably wouldn't come any more, and since she didn't have enough money left for a cab she decided to walk home.

As she walked along the footpath, someone bumped into her but kept steadily walking away without apologizing.

"Hey! E-excuse you," she said, when something in an alley to her right caught her eye. Something - no, not something - some _one_ was lying on the ground. Hesitantly, Rachel walked towards the person, and to her horror she saw that the man had blood all over his body. It was Tom Baker, the murderer of her sister, and he was evidently dead.

* * *

When Sherlock finally got to the address Rachel had told him on the phone, the police were already there.

"Are you alright?" He asked Rachel as he hurried towards her. She just stood there, her arms folded as if she was trying to stop herself from falling apart. Sherlock noticed that she was slightly trembling, but couldn't see any signs that she had been crying. He put his hand on her shoulder.

"Should I have a look at the body?" Sherlock suggested, and upon Rachel's nod he walked towards the alley, which had already been blocked for the public by a crime scene tape. Just as he raised the tape to walk through it, he was held back by a hand on his arm.

"Oi, mate, what do you think you're doing? This is a crime scene."

Sherlock turned around and faced the young, smaller man. _DI Miller_ said his name tag.

"You must be new to London then. I'm Sherlock Holmes." He offered his hand to Miller and looked over to the other policemen. "Where's Lestrade?"

The younger man ignored Sherlock's hand. "DI Lestrade is on holiday. And I know bloody well who you are. Jumping around on crime scenes like a little kid on Christmas morning."

"Now, could I -"

"I'm afraid not, sir. You better leave now. The police's investigations are none of your business."

With a frown, Sherlock realized that there was nothing he could do, at least for now.

"W-what was that all about?" Rachel asked as he came back towards her.

"First day at his job. Need's to prove he's in control of the situation."

"Oh, Sherlock…" Rachel leaned her forehead against his shoulder. Somehow she had imagined Sherlock would only need one quick look at the body and then magically solve the case, as he always did. "What is happening?"

Before Sherlock got the chance to say anything, a police woman appeared behind them. "Sorry, Ms Adams? I'm afraid you being the one who found the body, we need to take your witness report at the police station."

Reluctantly, Rachel turned away from Sherlock and followed the woman.

* * *

Although Sherlock had not been allowed to take a look at the body at the crime scene, he and Rachel went to the morgue the next day, where Molly was more than happy to help them out by showing them the corpse.

"He's been stabbed twelve times," she explained to them while she opened the plastic bag he lay in. "Looks like someone was really angry."

"I w-wonder why," said Rachel ironically. Sherlock started examining the body.

"The wounds are not very deep, suggesting the person who stabbed him didn't have much strength. Possibly a woman. No signs of struggle. He didn't try to defend himself, which means he was either taken by surprise - which is not very likely - or he knew his killer. He knew why he had to die." He turned around to Rachel. "Did you really not see who came out of that alley and bumped into you?"

"N-no, Sherlock, let's not go through this again. I don't know. He - or she, I'm not even sure whether it was a man or a woman - was about the same height as me, and he -or she - was wearing a dark hooded jumper, jeans, and trainers. That's all I know."

"What about his face, his walking pace, the brand of his trainers, were they old or new, wh-" Sherlock stopped in the middle of the word as he saw the look on Rachel's face. "I'm sorry," he said and put his hand on her cheek.

"It's okay. I know you're only trying to help."

As they continued to stare into each other's eyes, Molly coughed slightly, which immediately put them out of their trance and caused Rachel's cheeks to flush.

"Good, let's go," Sherlock said, took Rachel's hand and hurried towards the door.

Before they reached it, Rachel turned around and said, "Thank you, Molly," before she and Sherlock left the morgue.

Later that day they were in the middle of having dinner (or at least Rachel was, while Sherlock still was in his mind palace), when the door was torn open and DI Miller walked in, followed by two other policemen.

"Rachel Adams, you are arrested on suspicion of having murdered Tom Baker. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you don't mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."


	9. About a DNA

**A/N: Thank you enp for following! This story is coming to an end pretty soon...**

* * *

"Rachel Adams, you are arrested on suspicion of having murdered Tom Baker. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you don't mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

The sound of the men coming in had caused Sherlock to leave his mind palace. The detective was unable to get up from his armchair, unable to say anything, as a series of images flashed in front of his eyes. Mary Watson, a gun pointed at him, a bullet fired… But this couldn't be true, not _Rachel_. How could he have been so blind? He heard John's voice inside his head like an echo: _Listen, Sherlock, I … I don't think she's the sort of person you should spend time with._ What had John seen that he'd missed?

Rachel was a murderer. She had not simply found the body of Tom Baker in that alley, but she had murdered him herself, as a revenge for her sister's death. How could he not have seen that?

 _Sentiment_ , he thought, _stupid sentiment_. He never should have gone into that kind of thing. It had made him a blind, stupid idiot.

Rachel's voice interrupted his thoughts: "Sh-sherlock, you don't actually believe this?" She stood in front of him, a pleading look on her face, while DI Miller put cuffs around her wrists. "P-please, don't tell me you believe this."

Sherlock stared at her. He couldn't think, couldn't speak clearly faced with this unexpected turn of events. "No, I-"

"Right", interrupted DI Miller, "if you two want to continue your little chat you better come visit her in prison, Mr Holmes." Miller and the policemen left the room, taking Rachel with them. Sherlock still sat in his chair, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

* * *

Being in prison was weird. It seemed completely unreal to Rachel, as if she were in a tv show, or in a really confusing dream. The days passed by incredibly slowly, only interrupted by further interrogations with DI Miller or visits from her lawyer, an old friend of her mum. Kathy Jones looked exactly the way anyone would picture a successful lawyer - she was tall, had a short, modern haircut, and was wearing expensive dark dresses; she was always very straightforward and quite obviously eager to get over with this case. Rachel didn't like her very much.

The police had found Rachel's DNA on the body, and it didn't matter how often she told them that Baker had already been dead when she found him and that she never touched him, nor ever even saw him other than in television - no one believed her. All evidence pointed towards her being the killer, and the recent murder of her sister gave her a motive which, in the eyes of the police, was just perfect.

But none of this even really mattered to her, because the only thing Rachel could think of was that look on Sherlock's face the moment she had been arrested. He had seemed so vulnerable, as both disbelieve and hurt, and also - yes, hatred - had crossed his face. Rachel couldn't bear him thinking this way about her. She knew that he had been hurt before, how often people he had cared about had lied to him or left him, and the knowledge that she belonged to these people now - even if it wasn't the truth - broke her heart. She had hoped for a visit from him, a call, _anything_ , but as the days passed, she realized that Sherlock probably believed everything the police and the media said about her. He held logic about everything else, and all logic suggested that she was the one who had killed Baker.

When Rachel was guided towards the visitor room and sat down at one of the tables, she thought her mother had come to visit her again. But it was not her mother who walked into the room, but the man she had been waiting to hear from all this time.

Rachel tried not to raise her ambitions too high as Sherlock walked towards her. He looked just as he always did, with his coat and the blue scarf around his neck, maybe a bit paler and thinner than usual.

"H-hi," said Rachel as Sherlock sat down opposite to her. "I had given up the hope of you coming to visit me."

"Mhm, yes," Sherlock answered absentmindedly as he took off his scarf. "I've been spending a lot of time with Mycroft and Lestrade making further investigations, but so far I haven't accomplished anything, I'm afraid. There's absolutely nothing to prove you're innocent, not yet at least, but if I-"

"Sherlock, hold on," Rachel interrupted him. "D-did you just say I'm innocent?"

Sherlock looked at her for the first time and raised an eyebrow. "Yes, obviously. Now, as I was just trying to explain…"

Rachel started laughing out loud, which made Sherlock stop talking. He looked her in the eyes, completely confused at her strange behaviour.

"What is it? What did I say that's so funny?" he asked.

"Nothing, Sherlock, it's just that … with you not calling or visiting me, I didn't think that - I thought you believed that I had murdered Tom Baker."

"No, of course I don't," Sherlock said honestly. "I only tried to get you out of here, that's what I've been working on. I don't want to lose you."

Rachel smiled at him. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"Everything."

"But, as I said, I haven't reached anything yet." He took Rachel's hands into his own. "I promise, I'll find the real murderer and prove your innocence."

* * *

Exactly one week later, Sherlock and Rachel were back in the same room, talking about the trial against Rachel which had started the previous day. Although of course she had pleaded not guilty, it wasn't looking very good for her.

"Doesn't that just fit to the rest of my story?" she wondered. " As a kid, I get leukaemia, then I suffered from depression for multiple years, my sister got murdered and now I'll probably sit in jail for the rest of my life - for a murder I haven't even committed. But just for the record: my life didn't only just suck. I had great friends, for instance. I remember that time when Billy and I would go to th-"

"What did you just say?" Sherlock interrupted. Rachel could see how thoughts started running through his head.

"I was just about to tell you how my old friend Billy-"

Sherlock made a movement with his hand as if to mute Rachel. "No, not that. Before. You had leukaemia? Why haven't you ever told me about this?"  
"Well I don't know, it just never came up. And anyway, it really doesn't matter anymore. I got a bone marrow transplant, you know."

Rachel saw how a light lit up in Sherlock's eyes. "Oh that's just brilliant! Clever! I never would have thought of this!"  
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, explain to me _now_ what you got!"

"Don't you see? You got new bone marrow, from another person!"

"So what? It's only some bloody stem cells, that doesn't have anything to do with - oh! Yes of course! I got my donor's stem cells out of his bone marrow, and therefore also…"

"His DNA in your blood," Sherlock finished her sentence. They smiled at each other.

"I'll finally get out of here," Rachel said, relieved.

Sherlock nodded, the smile still on his face. "I'll make sure of it."


End file.
